


Best Served Cold

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russell Jewell loved Halloween perhaps just a little too much.  One day it would be the death of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Served Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrua7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/gifts).



 

 

Russell Jewell lived for this time of year. He loved Halloween.  His mother accused him of never being able to grow up, a song also sung by many of his girlfriends.  He didn’t care.  He loved how Halloween looked, how it smelled, and even how it sounded.  The more horrific the display, the more he loved it.

His love for Halloween started when he was just a kid. A family was murdered in his home town.  As horrible and awful as it was, Russ found it fascinating, like a car accident you can’t look away from.  Later that year, he found he could get close to the same thrill from Halloween and he was hooked.   

It had been a tragedy.   Death had come to Breason one Halloween Eve and no one had known until it was too late. The Marramot family had been massacred, but, no, that wasn’t quite right.  Not the entire family.  Three year old Gloria had survived the brutal attack.  She had been beaten, stabbed, and then left for dead.  Somehow, the child managed to cling to life until the next morning when the mailman tripped into the horrible mess.  Not only did she not die, she actually lived.  The only evidence of the attack was the missing tip of her right toe.  It wasn’t until you looked into her eyes that you saw the real damage. 

Gloria was never quite right after the attack. Who would be?  Russ eagerly read the paper and listened to the radio.  In some dreams, he rescued her and prevented the attack.  He was hailed a hero and even had a holiday named after him.  In other, darker dreams, he just watched the slaughter and felt a small thrill of through him.  She went to live with a cousin, changed her name, and hid from the public.

Russ collected everything he could about the murder. However, he was careful to keep it quiet, except for the one time during the year that no one looked at him strangely as he went on about the Marramot murder.  Halloween seemed to invite such interest.  He would contact the local paper and ask if anything new had occurred.  Twice he’d gotten the case reopened, but to no great success.  

Other kids grew up and out of their childhood loves, but not Russ. He did everything that was expected of him, but he never really came to life until October.  It was then that his heart sung and he was truly happy.  At that point, the dreams would start again, old dreams, but more often than not, he was the hero.

One day, he happened upon UNCLE and Russ found he could make a difference with very little effort and be a bit of a hero. He wasn’t interested in Section Two.  Sure, those agents made a difference in the world; they also had ridiculously short life expectancies.  Instead, Russ did what he always did and settled for Section Three.  He made milk runs and watched doors.  He stood in the rain or crouched in the bushes while his Section Two contemporaries were getting shot, tortured or killed.  As much as Russ loved the fear aspect of Halloween, he wasn’t all that keen on personal pain.

The fact that he had to work tonight of all nights was not lost on him. He had so much to do, so many last minute things to make his display perfect. Then he got the assignment folder in his in box and his heart sank.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, breaking the seal. He read the words, blinking rapidly as they blurred.  “Not tonight, please.” 

He didn’t think that Napoleon Solo had it in for him, but you could never tell. There wasn’t a really good feeling between the two sections even though they basically did the same job, at least in Russ’s opinion.  True, Solo was always quick with a smile and a word of encouragement, but he’d also pulled Russ to work Halloween eve. 

He stopped in front of the address and blinked. He couldn’t believe it… He’d pulled up in front of the upstate New York’s House of Screams.  He heard about this contest, but UNCLE had gone against him.  He’s been sent on a courier mission to Austria, then Portugal and finally Norway.  It was great to see those places, but by the time he got back, the contest was over. And now this.  Russ was stunned.

Eagerly, he climbed from the car and stared at the decorated second story balcony. With a slightly trembling hand, he pulled out his communicator.  “Open Channel R.”

“Channel R is open.” The voice was nearly blurred out by static.

“Tell Mr. Solo thanks for me. I’ve arrived at the destination and I’m going inside.  Jewell out.”

This was his lucky day!

                                                                                               *****

 

_“Open Channel R.”_

_“Channel R is open.”_

_“Tell Mr. Solo thanks for me.”_

Mick Hudson glared at Napoleon Solo as he snapped off the recorder. “What right do you have assignment Section Three men to your cases?”

“First, I think you will find that I am entirely within my right to request and assignment Section Three agents as necessary.” Napoleon kept his voice even and neutral.  He refused to let this man cause a stir.  “However, if you check your own records, you will find that it wasn’t me.”

“One of your senior agents, then?” Hudson turned his attention to Illya Kuryakin.

“I would have much rather assigned myself to any mission than do what I am currently doing.”

Napoleon grinned and nodded. “We have been desk bound for the last week, doing a Section review, per Mr. Waverly’s instructions.

The door to the conference room slid open and a young woman stepped inside.  She walked quickly to Hudson’s side and handed him an assignment envelope.  Napoleon smiled at her and she blushed prettily.  Just as quickly, she left.

Hudson turned the folder over again and again in his hand, then focused on the flap.

“What’s eating you, Mick?”

“When did you start using sealing wax to seal assignment folders?”

“What?” Napoleon took the folder and picked at the hardened red resin.  “Since never.  Why would I do that?”

                                               

                                                                                *****

Of course had he thought about it for a minute, Russ would have seen the ending much sooner. However, he was too excited, too ready to be thrilled to death, as the ads warned.

He hurried up the steps and looked around. It seemed odd that the ‘most haunted house in the world’ should be closed on this of all nights, but perhaps it was a special treat.  His special treat.

He walked up to the front door, marveling at the depth of detail. They hadn’t left a stone unturned.  With no one behind him, he took the time to study the handiwork, puzzling out how they created each effect and filing it away for later use.

He push the door open, prepared for the creature that flew at him.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, guys,” he said aloud, knowing that he wasn’t alone. Then a fine mist and a chilly wind blew across his neck and he shivered.  “However, that’s new.”

He entered the house and let his eyes grow accustomed to the low light. There was nothing out of place or to suggest that this was anything but a haunted mansion. 

With a thrill, Russ walked into the parlor. The table had been lavishly set for a dinner party, but one from twenty years early.  Thick dust covered the plates, glasses and all the surfaces.

“Happy birthday to me,” a thin childish voice crooned and Russ looked over at the fireplace mantel. A row of frightening realistic looking doll heads decorated the shelf.  Some had their eyes gouged out, others had been smashed in entirely.  He realized with a sick feeling that perhaps they weren’t all what they appeared.

“H-hello?”

“Happy birthday to me.” One eye managed to swivel in his direction.  The other dangled loose from its socket.

Russ backed away from the fireplace and back into the hall. He turned left and that was revealed to be a study.

There was a pair of bodies sprawled out on the floor. Without meaning to, Russ immediately cataloged them.  A man and a woman, possible mid 30’s, looked like blunt force trauma at least to the head, but with so much blood it was hard to tell.  A door swung open and a man holding a chainsaw lunged out.

Even though he knew it couldn’t hurt him, Russ reached for his weapon and drew it as the figure disappeared back into the wall.

“Steady, old boy. Don’t get spooked.”  He smiled even as he said the words.  Getting spooked was exactly what he wanted.

Another door seemed to beckon to him and he slowly opened it. It was a bathroom, but on par with that of _Psycho_.  The bathtub and walls were splattered with blood and Russ shook his head.

“This is really old, guys.”

Then when he felt the first slice of pain in his back. He gasped and spun.  There was a figure there, petite and shrouded in blood-soaked gauze.  Russ didn’t even have the time to pull his pistol before another attack came and he could hear the knife _slicking_ its way into his body.

He screamed and waited for help, but a small voice just laughed at his optimism.

“They can’t hear you now.” It was the same voice from the dining room.  “I killed them first, you see.  It's just you and me now, just like it was meant to be.”

Russ retreated, hoping for some space to regroup and get his weapon out.   The back of his legs his the bathtub and he tumbled in, bashing his head as he went down.  His vision swam as the knife came out to cut him again.

“I don’t understand,” he whimpered. He realized that the blood in the bathtub was now mostly his.  “What do you mean?”

She pulled the gauze from her face. “All I wanted was peace.  All I wanted was to be left alone, but you couldn’t have that, could you?”

“Who are you?”

“I used to be Gloria Marramot. I didn’t want to be her, but you wouldn’t let me be anyone else.”

“I wanted to save you.” Russ could feel his hold on life slipping away.

“Then die.” He never felt the rest of the blows.

 

                                                                               ****

Napoleon stepped over a broken chair and shook his head. “What in the name of all that’s holy happen here?”

“I think holy had nothing to do with this.” Illya hooked a thumb over his shoulder, then stood and brushed off his hand.  “His body is in there.” 

“What happened?”

“He must have been surprised, but who wouldn’t be in all of this?” Illya’s foot hit a pressure plate and a deranged woman shot up from the floor, screaming gibberish at them.  Napoleon jumped and Illya just shook his head.  “I’ve never quite understood this whole tradition.”  He brushed away fake spider webs.  “Or had any desire to participate in it.”

“I’ll try to explain it sometime when we aren’t dealing with a dead Section Three agent.”

“Was handwriting able to determine anything from the folder?”

“Only that it wasn’t mine and it was feminine.”

“Definitely not you, then.”

They both stopped at the bathroom door. On the wall was painted the words, _Now it ends._

Any ideas?”

“No, but on first impressions, I am willing to bet that matches your sample.”

“Now what ends?”

“I have no idea.” He walked to the tub and winced.  “Poor Russ.  What a mess.  He must have been stabbed a dozen times.”

“At least.” Napoleon stepped aside and let UNCLEs medical staff do their job.  “Not a way I want to go out.”

“Speaking of such,” Illya said softly and in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. “How was your date with Mick’s secretary?”

“It was great, although she does have one sort of odd trait.”

“What’s that?”

“She has no right big toe.”

 

 


End file.
